


Dark Souls: The Chosen Undead

by AngelMatvey



Category: Dark Souls, Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls I
Genre: I'm gonna do the entire story fml, Walkthrough Fic, no previous knowledge required
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-28
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-08-18 09:04:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8156635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelMatvey/pseuds/AngelMatvey
Summary: In the Age of Ancients, the world was unformed, shrouded by fog. A land of grey crags, archtrees, and everlasting dragonsBut then there was Fire. A walkthrough fic of the first Dark Souls game, following the grueling  journey of the Chosen Undead in her pursuit of destiny.





	1. Prologue: The Cell

**Author's Note:**

> In the Age of Ancients, the world was unformed, shrouded by fog. A land of grey crags, arch trees, and everlasting dragons
> 
> But then there was Fire, and with Fire came Disparity.
> 
> Heat, and Cold, 
> 
> Life, and Death, 
> 
> and of course… Light, and Dark.
> 
> Then, from the Dark, They came,  
> and found the Souls of Lords within the flame.
> 
> Nito, the First of the Dead.  
> The Witch of Izalith, and her Daughters of Chaos.  
> Gwyn, the Lord of Sunlight, and his faithful knights.  
> And the furtive Pygmy, so easily forgotten.
> 
>  
> 
> With the Strength of Lords, they challenged the dragons.  
> Gwyn’s mighty bolts peeled apart their stone scales,  
> the Witches weaved great firestorms,  
> Nito unleashed a miasma of death and disease,  
> and Seath the Scaleless betrayed his own,  
> and the dragons were no more.
> 
> Thus began the Age of Fire. 
> 
>  
> 
> But soon, the flames will fade, and only Dark will remain. Even now, there are only embers,  
> and man sees not light, but only endless nights.
> 
>  
> 
> And amongst the living are seen, carriers of the accursed [Darksign...](https://youtu.be/vpAqgIe05So)

Five senses.

Five things to hear. The scrabbling of a nearby rat. The low, steady stirring of the wind high above. The gentle _drip drip drip_ of melting snow. The heavy footsteps of some faraway monstrosity. The ceaseless sound of metal striking stone, some poor damned soul down the hall beating the hilt of a shattered sword against the unyielding walls of their prison.

Four things to feel. Coarse fabric bound tight across her chest. A breeze cutting through the stagnant air to tug at her matted yellow mane.The dulled ache of her raw fingers, bloodied from her last frantic attempt at clawing her way up to the hole in the ceiling. Cold stone, sapping the last flicker of warmth from her bones.

Three things to smell. Rot and decay. An acrid tinge, one she recognized as magic. The scent of earth carried by that faint breeze.

Two things to taste. Rancid smoke from the torches lighting the hall. Blood on her tongue.

One thing to see. A door of black iron.

* * *

 

Three years of solitude without even the escape of death had left her with few ways to pass the time. Memories had replayed in her mind so many times that they had frayed at the edges, and she couldn’t quite remember what was true and what was the fabrication of a decaying mind.

So she found herself playing sensory games, as if holding onto the world around her would help her hold onto herself.

 

Her humanity was slipping. It was obvious. She certainly looked the part, ashen flesh pulled taut over dying muscle and sharp bones. Her eyes, long ago bright honey-gold, were sunken and bruised. Her straw-blonde hair was a filthy matted knot on her head, and her clothes hung from her skeletal frame in rags. Her stomach was distended, and inside nestled an emptiness that could not be sated. No matter what she tried, how many rats she caught and ate, she still felt hollow.

The word made her flinch. _Hollow_. Her eyes flicked down to the mark on her chest, scar tissue emerging like roots from a perfect ring above her heart. Hollowing is the fate of all Undead, as inevitable as death ought to be. With each minute that passed she felt herself slipping away bit by bit.

 

Indeed, the only thing that had kept her sane through the long years was that hole in the ceiling. As the sun crested the mountains each morning, its gentle rays cascaded down into her cell. Crows called to one another in their reverie, a sound she came to cherish and envy. The winter brought a deep chill, but it also brought delicate snowflakes that melted on the tips of her ragged fingers. Spring ended that snow, and in return gifted her songbirds.

The hole was her link to the outside world, her tether to what once was and what could be.

 

It was her blessing and her curse, and her freedom.

* * *

 

A faint sound slowly dragged her from her silent introspection. It was a crunching sound, footsteps in the snow above. Heavy footsteps, but with the stride of a man. She sat curled in a far corner, knees tucked up to her chin and bony arms wrapped tight around herself to ward off the chill. She barely reacted as the footsteps drew ever closer. Someone was bringing the prison a new victim, or perhaps imprisoning themselves in some misguided sense of duty.

She tried to think back to her arrival. Had she come willingly? She couldn’t remember fighting back, but there were many things that she could no longer remember. The years and creeping descent into madness had taken many things from her, even her very name.

 

As she struggled to recall, she almost didn’t notice that the footsteps no longer followed the path to the asylum gate. It wasn't until they stopped just above her cell that she began to raise her head from her arms. A dark mass fell in front of her, landing with a sick thud on the stone floor. Her stomach clenched a bit at the sound of snapping bones as the body crumpled to the ground. She raised her gaze to the hole in the ceiling, and a shiver unrelated to the cold ran through her.

A knight knelt at the edge of the hole. He was clad in sleek silver armor, breastplate cloaked in royal blue and emblazoned with a golden crest from a faraway land. His face was covered by his helm, but she knew that he was staring back at her.

 

The two gazed at one another for a long moment. She felt her stomach turn with… Fear? Excitement? Hunger? But then the knight rose without a word and was gone.

 

She listened to his footsteps fade until the sound no longer could reach her. Then she brought her attention to her new cellmate. He was Hollow, no doubt about it. His naked skin was leathery and brown, pulled tight away from gaping eye sockets and rotten gums. His head was bent at an odd angle, and she could see a dent in his skull beneath wisps of black hair. One spindly leg was also badly injured, almost cleaved from his body entirely by the blade of a sword or axe. The smell of rotting meat began to permeate the air. Despite such severe injuries, she knew that he will have himself back together within a day.

 

It was only on closer inspection that she spotted the item tied to the Hollow’s wrist. She heaved herself to her feet, wobbling a bit before regaining her balance. Her legs held steady under her, so she stepped forward towards the body.

The key was heavy and black, rough with rust. She tugged the knotted string free and took the treasure for herself.

 

Even as she held it in her hands she couldn’t quite believe it. She clutched it delicately to her chest. Could it really be…?

She was at the iron gate in an instant, scrabbling for the keyhole through the rusted iron bars.The tip of the key slotted in, and her breath caught in her throat.

 

 _Click_.

  
The door groaned on its hinges, but swung dutifully open beneath her touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaand that's the prologue! What will she do next? Does she stand a chance of survival in a dying world? Will she put her faith in the gods to aide her, or perhaps channel the fire within her to sear her enemies? Will she take up the staff of a mage, or rely on cold steel? Tune in next time to find out more! 
> 
> This adventure is just beginning, and anyone can give their input on what the Chosen Undead should become.


	2. The Undead Asylum: Get Away!

The hall was narrow and dank, its damp stone walls reflecting brilliant orange from the three torches fixed along one side. To the left were rows of cells, the light not quite reaching within. To her left were a series of barred windows overlooking a massive hall. She could see and hear something huge lumbering within. 

 

Not quite a perfect scene of freedom, but she would take what she could get. 

 

She walked slowly and deliberately down the hall. She kept her gaze forward, refusing to look at the beast to her right. It was at least three stories tall, thick with blubber and reeking of magic and blood. 

Further down the hall the iron bars on the right were mangled and bent inward from a mighty blow. A corpse hung from them, partially impaled on the protruding spikes. 

She shuddered as she passed underneath the grisly spectacle, but did not falter. 

 

The beast either didn't notice her or didn't care, and she let out a shaky sigh as she passed the last barred window. The hall ended in a set of stone stairs, leading up into a dark room beyond.

 

At the base of the stairs, a withered Hollow stood with his back to her. It was tapping its head against the wall over and over. Clearly long gone, even beyond mindless rage. In one gnarled fist it clutched a broken sword. 

For a heartbeat she considered killing it, but that would be a waste of energy. Instead, she simply reached out and gently tugged at the hilt of the sword. The Hollow let go with little reluctance and resumed beating its dented skull into the wall.

The blade was shattered, barely more than a jagged dagger. But it was sharp, and she was determined. So she tromped up the stairs brandishing her new weapon. 

 

The next room was quite dark, and filled with rainwater. Another Hollow sat in the far corner, submerged up to its shoulders in icy water. She avoided it completely, stepping down a small set of stairs and sloshing across towards yet another room.

A chill breeze swept across the water. Outside air. She was close.

 

A ladder led upwards. She grabbed the frigid iron, hauling herself up step by step towards open sky.  

 

The last rung. She practically threw herself over the lip of the hole, scrabbling in the snow and frozen dirt. The courtyard was small, empty except for a stick jabbed vertically in the dirt a ways away. She ignored it in favor of flopping face-first into the frost. 

 

* * *

 

She took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of earth. Sharp grass pricked at her exposed skin, and wind pulled at her clothes, urging her back to her feet. She ignored it.

 The sky above her was huge, pure white with low-hanging clouds. Even in the midst of winter, the grass retained its hue, giving a hint of life to the snow and stone. Tiny flurries danced and swayed in the air around her. This was what freedom looked like.

She laid in the frost for a while, letting her feelings overflow. Her breath came in gasping sobs, and her frail body shook as tears rolled down her face and wet the cold dirt. Her bloody fingers dragged handfuls of soil and grass from the ground and clutched it to her breast. The world was cold, yes, but it was  _alive_ , and so much warmer than dead grey stone. 

 

Eventually, though, she returned to her senses. She heaved herself to her feet and took a few faltering steps forward.

What she had previously thought was a stick in the ground was actually a sword, deep bronze with a thick blade coiled at the hilt. It was embedded in a small pile of bones and ash, still faintly glowing. A bonfire. 

Without really knowing why, she reached forward. Her fingers grazed the hilt of the coiled sword, and suddenly the bonfire was alive. The flames were small and weak, too weak to do much beyond offer their warmth. 

She gratefully accepted this gift, kneeling for a moment beside the small fire and letting its heat and light bathe her leathery skin. 

 

True freedom was not in her grasp quite yet. The high walls of the Undead Asylum towered still, surrounding her on all sides. The only way forward was a massive wooden doorway across the courtyard, so her choice was made for her. 

The twin doors looked ancient, their paint and decoration long peeled away. They were riddled with cracks and rough splinters. Still, the doors stood heavy and strong. She had to push her entire weight against them to even get them to budge. Her shoulders strained, muscles unused for so long almost giving way. 

But the doors gave way instead, and she found herself in another courtyard. This one was bigger, lined with columns and floored with broken and uneven bricks. Dozens of large pots sat to each side, their purpose unknown to her.

 

Two things caught her attention. The first was another set of double doors across this courtyard. She knew instinctively that this was her way out. 

The second was a message scrawled on the ground a ways ahead. It was written in brilliant orange, glowing faintly. She approached it, straining to read. 

 

* * *

 

 

The ground shook violently upon impact,and her vision was filled with scaly green-grey flesh. She fell backwards, staring up at the massive, blubbery demon that had leapt down from its perch and landed not ten feet away. It was the same kind of creature from the cells, but in the daylight it was somehow all the more real.

Beady black eyes stared down at her, and it raised a massive hammer above its head. There was nowhere to run. Hiding her face desperately with one arm, she happened to glance down. The message was beside her, its words now clear. 

 

_Get away!_

 

The beast let out a mighty bellow and brought the great hammer down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> death count: 1
> 
> and so it begins


	3. The Undead Asylum: Oscar of Astora

The flames coiled and swirled, serpents of brilliant gold and crimson. They danced and chased one another through white ash and underneath bones, before licking their way up the blackening blade. Though small, the fire burned hot, contrasting the cold on her back. She stared at the mesmerizing performance. The light burned her retinas and her eyes began to water.

 

And then she blinked, and her senses returned in a rush.

How long had she been sitting at the bonfire? Her body ached as she got to her feet.

... Ah. The demon with the hammer. She didn't recall feeling any pain, so she must have been crushed instantly. But every time she had died in the past, she had later awoken in the same place.

She glanced at the bonfire. The flames curled lazily. There were better things to worry about. Especially, she thought, turning her gaze to the old wooden doorway, what laid ahead.

 

The doors were closed once more. Logic told her that they were the same as they had been, but somehow they felt taller, more imposing. She crept up the stairs and carefully shoved one of the doors with her right shoulder. It shifted an inch, grinding on a loose brick beneath it. She froze.

There were was no reaction from within the courtyard beyond.

She pushed again, opening it a few more inches. Still silence.

Emboldened, he poked her head through the narrow gap. The courtyard was empty once more, and there was no sign of the great beast. A few snowflakes floated delicately to the ground, giving the illusion of serenity.

 

She wedged the door open further, just enough to fit through. The groaning door and her own footsteps echoed deafeningly, and she was sure that her heartbeat was audible as well. She was determined to not be bested again, though, at least not without putting up a proper fight. Her broken sword was clutched in both hands as she slinked forward, step by step.

Freedom was tantalizing, and she honestly considered simply making a break for the doors. She may have done it, too, had she not looked up.

 

The demon was perched on the top of a tower high above. Unnaturally still, as though it thought that it would remain unnoticed against the white sky. She gazed up at the beast, and it gazed down at her. From so far away, it looked quite small.

Neither moved for a long minute. Her heart began to slow back down, and her stomach uncurled from its knot. She gave the room a quick glance. The large pots still sat along the walls, columns still held the remains of the roof in place, the room was still a near-empty arena with no escape but forward. 

 

So forward she ran, full-sprint to the gate. A shadow passed over her, and she held her breath as she scrambled across the uneven stone. It landed just behind her, close enough for her to feel the rush of wind. The ground shook again from the weight of the obese demon, and she barely caught herself with a hand on the ground. 

 

She hit the door hard, trying to break it open. It didn't budge.

She hit it again, bracing her shoulder and throwing her entire weight into it. The door shuddered, but refused to give way. 

She scrabbled at the handles, desperately shoving and pulling. Her breathing was labored, and she could hear the beast let out a heavy growl.

There was a keyhole. The door was locked. 

 

* * *

 

The hammer smashed into her left side, lifting her off of her feet. The bones in her forearms were shattered instantly, along with three of her ribs and part of her elbow. Blood splattered across the door and wall as she tumbled into the corner of the courtyard. 

Her vision was black, and she could hear screaming. Her gasps were wet and agonizing. Everything was agony, her arm was on fire from the inside out. The screaming was hers.

 

Her vision returned just as the demon turned to face her. Its red eyes were emotionless, scrunched in an ugly pig's face. Its tusks were bared, drooling saliva onto itself.

_I can't let this thing kill me again._

 

 

She was on her feet somehow. The demon was fat and slow, much slower than she was. So she turned and ran. Her feet were leaden, each step shooting a spear of agony through her brain. But there was a doorway.

It was set against the far wall, a dark passageway that she had not noticed before. Her feet moved, and she ducked instinctively.

She could hear and feel the air part above her as another horizontal swipe passed where her head had been a half a second before. Her throat tightened and she let out a whine.

She flung herself into the passageway, the iron gate slamming shut behind her. Her heel slipped on the stairs, and she tumbled down with another ragged scream.

 

* * *

 

She was alive, but only just.

Bones pierced the muscle and skin of her upper arm, drenching her in her own blood. She lay sprawled on the ground, vision blurred and growing darker.

There was warmth on her fingertips, her good hand stretched out to her right. She groped feebly for the source, and hissed as she thrust her fingers into hot ash.   
  
A bonfire. She stretched, reaching for the coiled blade. Her fingers brushed the bronze metal, and the bonfire burst to life.

 

She yanked her hand back, clutching her singed wrist. Except... it didn't hurt anymore. As the heat buffeted her face, she felt her pain dulling. From behind her closed eyelids she could see the fire's light as her vision cleared. Her gasps steadied, her bones mended, and her flesh knitted itself back together.

 

* * *

  
  
She laid on the stone for a while. It was cool and slightly damp, and the room smelled of moss. Probably from the rainwater collecting on the floor, forming a deep pool a few feet away. It was a good thing she hadn't fallen in there, she thought idly, or the shock of the cold would have drowned her before she even noticed the fire.

She reached out and dipped her fingers in the water. It was icy cold, and her fingers twitched a bit as they made contact. The cold pain crept up her hand.

 

She got to her feet. She felt no pain except for the lingering chill on her fingertips. She rolled her shoulders, flexed, twisted, and attempted to touch her toes. The latter she failed, but she chalked it up to a lack of flexibility. Otherwise, she was as healthy as could be.

 

Beside her, the bonfire crackled and burned.

 

There was no going back, only forward. She sloshed through the freezing water. Across the room was a doorway that opened to a long, snowy hall open to the sky. It was lined with destroyed cells and rubble, and at the far end was-

 

She flattened herself against the wall to one side. An arrow whipped past, clanging against the stone behind her. The Hollow was already pulling another arrow from its quiver, longbow clutched in its gnarled hand. Thinking fast, she leapt forward, ducking into one of the damaged cells to her left.

It was filled with ankle-deep water, but her leather boots were already soaked and freezing so she couldn’t bring herself to care too much. The cell was small and damp, with a wrinkled corpse sprawled halfway through the doorway. Her eyes lit up when she noticed the dented shield it clutched.

The shield was small, the blue paint scraped away at many places, but it would certainly hold up to an arrow better than her leather armor. She slid her left hand into the straps, securing it to her forearm. The shield wasn’t terribly heavy either, quite the opposite. She held it up in front of her, pretending to guard against an imaginary foe.

_Yes, this will work._

 

She stepped out into the hall once again. The archer drew its bow, and she raised her shield. With a _thwang_ , the arrow simply glanced off.

 

She advanced. _Thwang_.

She moved even closer. _Thwang_.

She was ten feet away from the archer.

 

The Hollow turned and stumbled away, apparently realizing the imminent danger. She was about to give chase, brandishing her broken dagger, when something even better caught her eye.

The faint sunlight had glanced off of a battered steel blade, embedded in the chest of a dead Hollow at the end of the hall. The archer lumbered past it, into a passage on the left. She let it go, instead pulling the sword free from the cold corpse. It slumped over, dark blood oozing sluggishly from the fatal wound.

 

She tossed the hilt of her broken sword away and brandished the longsword. It was old and the blade was nicked, but it was sharp and well-balanced. It was an amazing find, even better than the shield. She thanked any gods who were listening.

Indeed, she cut a striking figure now. She was clad in thick leather armor with an iron helm and shoulderpads, a sturdy shield in one hand and a longsword in the other. Giddy, she struck a pose, sword resting on her shoulder as she gazed dramatically into the distance.

Her delight could only be savored for a moment, though, as she remembered the archer that had just fled. Her grin dropped, and she turned back to the passage it had disappeared into.

 

She entered with her shield up. Almost instantly, it was struck with an arrow. The Hollow was only about fifteen feet away, attempting to fire down a much shorter hall. Instead of giving it the chance, she sprinted forward and brought her sword down.

She cleaved a mighty gash, slicing the tendons and muscle connecting its neck and left shoulder. Hot blood splattered from the wound. The Hollow gurgled as it fell away, face blank and jaw slack.

She raised the sword again, this time swiping horizontally across its face. The creature’s skull was cleaved open and its neck wrenched to one side. It gave a twitch and fell still.

Satisfied with her handiwork, she tugged her sword free from the Hollow’s skull. It flopped back to the ground like a ragdoll. 

 

She found herself on the second floor of a three-story balcony next, overlooking a courtyard. She immediately recognized it as the same courtyard before the demon’s hall. The fire still bravely glowed below.

To her left and right the balcony wrapped around the courtyard. She tried the former first, but was disappointed to find only a dead end and a ruined staircase that she couldn’t quite climb. So she turned back to the right.

She hadn’t paid much attention earlier, but there was a doorway set to one side, directly across from where she had killed the Hollow archer. It was barred and filled with rubble, but there was something inside.

 

She crept up to the bars. Lying on a pile of rubble, sunlight shining down upon him, was the very same knight who had dropped the Hollow with the key into her cell.

 

* * *

 

The knight didn't seem to have noticed her. He was motionless, and she wondered if he was even alive.

She skirted around the door, looking for a way in. The room he was in sat parallel to the balcony, walled off with stone. There were no openings except for cracks. She quickly gave up in favor of exploring the rest of the balcony.

 

On the right side, the hall ended with two stairways on the left; one lead upwards and the other lead down. Neither seemed more appealing than the other, so she decided to keep going up.

She quickly realized her mistake as she saw the crest of the huge iron ball over the top of the stairs. She turned and began to run, but only made it a few steps. The immensely heavy ball rolled down and clipped her right side, breaking two of her toes and knocking her clear off the side of the stairway.

 

“ _Fuck_!” she spat, just before landing hard on the lower path. Her shoulder twisted awkwardly and her head bounced off the stone steps. Her helm took most of the impact though, so after a moment of regaining her bearings she got back to her feet.

She retrieved the sword she had dropped in her fall, then continued down bitterly. If that was the reception she would receive going up, she would go down instead.

 

At the bottom of the stairs was an iron gate, opening into the courtyard with the bonfire. It was set in a far corner, easy to miss. Cold and wet and hurt, she hobbled stiffly over to it and sat down. Almost immediately she felt her pain numb, then fade away. Her shoulder didn’t twinge and her foot didn’t burn as she pulled her boots off, letting the fire warm her mended toes.

She waited for her boots to dry, all the while listening to the horrible blubbery bastard stomp around in the next hall. She briefly considered taking it on with her new gear, but even iron boulders felt more welcoming than the beast beyond the doors.

 

So she pulled her boots on and tromped back up the stairs. This time she sidestepped out of the way of the boulder trap, letting it tumble and crash harmlessly into the wall behind her.

The Undead that had pushed the boulder gazed dully down from the top of the stairs.

Irritated, she leapt up, taking the stairs two at a time, and shoved the Hollow bodily to the ground. She slashed twice at its bare stomach, blade tearing at the Hollow’s rotting organs.

 

Leaving the pitiful creature to squirm, she approached the iron gate just beyond. It was made of dark iron, dusted with rust and locked shut. She tried the handle anyways, rattling the door, even halfheartedly shoving against it. No luck.

She stepped back over the now-still Hollow. Its blood pooled steadily, making the top few stairs slick. She made sure to descend carefully, lest she slip into the gore or fall and break her neck. Sure, she was effectively immortal, but as her humanity gradually returned so did her pride, and death by bloody stairs would be frankly ridiculous.

 

Her musing was interrupted when she noticed a gaping hole in the wall at the bottom of the stairs. It certainly hadn’t been there a minute ago.  

 

She peered inside, quickly realizing that the momentum of the iron ball had smashed the ancient stone apart. She gave the newly-opened hall a glance.

 

A chill ran through her as she found herself staring at the dark slit in the knight’s helm once again.

He was still lying in the rubble, turned slightly towards her. She could see blood on the rocks, and his blue tunic was slick and torn in many places. Even from where she stood, she could hear how labored his breathing was.

 

Neither spoke, or even made a sound besides slow, wet breathing. But she wasn’t frightened this time, so she slowly made her way forward.

The knight was only a few feet away, but it felt like an eternity before she stood over him. This close, she could see just a sliver of the knight’s face. His skin was leathery and taut.

 

“You…” he murmured, breaking the silence. “You’re no Hollow, eh?”

The knight’s voice was gentle and clear, despite his condition. “My name is Oscar, of Astora. What’s yours?”

This question gave her pause. She hadn’t thought of her name in a long time.

 

Oscar waited politely for her to answer, but seemed to realize that she was struggling to recall.

“Ah, it doesn’t really matter, does it? I-”

“Eirika,” she mumbled, interrupting him. Her mouth felt strange, her tongue unused to forming the words in her brain. “My name is Eirika.”

 

She could see the corners of his eyes crinkle in a warm smile. “Well met, Eirika. But I’m done for, I’m afraid.” He punctuated this fact with a wet cough. “I’ll die soon, and… lose my sanity.”

He paused a moment, and she nodded in empathy.

“...I wish to ask something of you. You and me, we’re both Undead. Hear me out, will you?”

Eirika nodded again. Oscar sighed, seeming to sink further into the stone rubble.

 

“Regrettably, I have failed in my mission,” he began, “but… perhaps you could keep the torch lit.

“There’s an old saying in my family… ‘thou who art Undead art chosen. In thine exodus from the Undead Asylum, seeketh pilgrimage to the land of Ancient Lords… When thou ringeth the Bell of Awakening… the fate of the Undead thou shalt know.’”

 

As he spoke Oscar’s voice grew quieter, and more strained. She knelt beside the knight, but there was nothing that she could do but listen.

“Well, now you know… and I can die with hope in my heart. Oh, one more thing…”

He reached into a pouch on his hip, and pulled out a dull emerald flask. “Here, take this... An Estus flask, an Undead favorite… and this…”

He retrieved a small iron key as well, offering them both to her. She took the two items gratefully, unsure of what to say. But Oscar seemed to understand.

“Now I must bid you farewell, Eirika. I would hate to harm you after death… So go, now… and thank you…”

 

Oscar turned away from her then, eyes closing. She gazed at him for a long moment, and then she left. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Baby's First Word! And then a few more less exciting ones. 
> 
> Poor Oscar. He's a good man and a brave knight. Maybe he will make it out of the Asylum after all.
> 
>  
> 
> I think I'm going to do longer chapters like this, to keep the story moving along rather than a bunch of small chapters. But it'll probs depend on how it flows :V


	4. The Undead Asylum: The Asylum Demon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only, in the ancient legends it is stated that one day an Undead shall be chosen  
> to leave the undead asylum in pilgrimage to the Land of Ancient Lords…
> 
> Lordran.

The key, as she suspected, slotted easily into the gate upstairs. The lock itself took a bit of force to actually turn, though. Rust ground against rust as the bolt withdrew, allowing her entry to the third floor of the asylum.

The far wall was utterly demolished, open to the white sky. Mountains surrounded the prison on all sides, snow-dusted evergreens adorning the grey stone. It was an enchanting sight, but she was far more concerned with the shuffling footsteps around the corner just ahead.

Shield raised, she moved forward. A pair of Hollows almost fell over one another as they emerged from what used to be a doorway on her right. She lashed out with her blade as the struggled to regain their footing on the rubble-strewn floor. Her attack missed, and she winced as one of the creatures grazed her forearm with a jagged knife.

Their blows were frantic, disorganized, and easy to predict. Soon, both bodies lay crumpled on the floor, one still gurgling despite a severed spine. She simply stepped over it and rounded the corner.

 

_Thunk._

 

 

She fell backwards, clutching at her chest. Her leather armor stopped the arrow somewhat, but it had punched through about an inch into her chest. Had she been fully alive, she probably would have screamed from the pain, but years of undeath had left her dulled. So instead, she gritted her teeth and ripped the arrow from her breast.

The archer was already drawing back another arrow, so she pulled herself to her feet. The arrow missed by a mile, sailing off somewhere over the wall. She didn’t give the archer another chance.

* * *

 

She now stood above the great locked doors of the asylum. Below her, the demon stomped and raged.

It took a moment for the beast to notice her. It stilled its raging, its flat pig face turned upwards at the small platform on which she stood.

There was a long rope tied around the beast’s neck. Something small and metal glinted. She knew in her gut that it was the key to the asylum gates. If she wanted to escape, she would have to kill the great beast.

 

 

She leapt from the platform.

 

She clutched her sword in both hands, raised over her head as she plunged downward. Her stomach rose to her throat, and she heard nothing but the wind and her own heartbeat, saw nothing but muddy green scales and a crown of antlered horns.

Her aim was slightly off, and her sword plunged into the creature’s thick neck fat. Hot blood and blubber spilled from the gaping wound, coating her hands and torso in a foul mixture. She clung desperately to her sword, still buried in the demon, as it bellowed and swatted at her with a short stubby claw.

Finally, the blade came loose, and she tumbled away as the massive demon roared. Its blood coated its chest, trailing down its legs and beginning to pool on the stone below. The injury was significant indeed, but she knew it was not mortal.

 

The demon hopped backwards in a surprising display of agility for its size. The creature was a story tall and almost as wide, but still managed to cover half the room in a single backwards leap. There was no way that she could outpace it for long.

It raised its greathammer above its head, and she backed away even further. The hammer smashed into the stone tiled floor, shattering the rock with a mighty crash. Such a blow would have killed her outright if it connected.

The beast attempted to chase her, waddling on its short stubby legs. It swung its hammer again, a horizontal blow that utterly demolished the stone pillar it connected with. She fell backwards away from the devastating path that the hammer was carving across the courtyard.

 

The sight of the creature chasing her around the room was almost comical. Pillars and pots were smashed, and she vaulted over the debris and scrambled over crushed rock. It pursued her doggedly, occasionally taking a swing when her pace slackened.

 

This is not working, she thought. A change of tactics was needed.

 

She turned on her heel, shield raised. She and the demon were near the center of the courtyard. Seeing its opportunity, the great blubbery beast raised its hammer above its head. Seeing her own, she rushed forward.

The demon tried to alter its swing to hit her, but she was already upon it. Keeping her distance didn’t work, so she would do the opposite.

She hacked at its legs, choking on the stench of blood and fat as her blade cut into it. The bare flesh parted easily. She landed several good slashes before the demon rounded on her. She skirted around its left side, then stabbed her blade into its leg. It screamed and leapt away, almost taking her sword with it. 

 

That slowed the beast down quite a bit. A dozen gashes split its stomach and legs. Blood soaked into the cracks and grooves in the stone floor as the beast paused for breath. It snorted and wheezed, heavily favoring its less-injured leg as it sized her up.

 

She moved in again, shield raised. It swiped horizontally with the hammer, and she rolled to dodge. 

Her foot caught on a chunk of broken pillar as she got to her feet, and she barely got her shield up in time for a second blow. It was heavy, sending her sliding back several feet. She kept her balance and shook it off, moving in again as the demon tried to attack a third time. It swung over her head.

She pulled her sword back, taking aim. One good blow ought to…

 

The demon screamed as its achilles heel was severed. She leapt back as the creature collapsed, howling and crying and clutching its lame leg. Its hammer was abandoned beside it.

 

She circled around to its face. It was even more foul up close, lipless tusks drawn in a permanent snarl as it glared up at her. 

One last stab finished the job.

* * *

 

The body of the creature dissolved into ash, which quickly faded away. This should have surprised her much more than it actually did, but she couldn’t bring herself to care.

 

She retrieved the large iron key from where it fell in the cold ash. The blood that had spilled from the demon still coated the rocks, steaming faintly in the cold.

Upon brief examination, she realized that she, too, looked and smelled like a slaughterhouse. Her leather armor was damp and sticky, and she felt supremely uncomfortable as well as exhausted.

She stripped and washed herself and her armor a bit in the pool of rainwater downstairs. As the leather dried, she rested by the bonfire.

 

When she looked away from the fire, her armor was dry. It still smelled like blood, but she didn’t feel actively disgusted putting it back on, so she deemed the cleaning effort a success.

She returned to the destroyed courtyard. The beast’s blood was dried, and already starting to be covered by snowflakes. The great doors were still locked.

The key slotted in. The mechanism was old, but it still let the key turn. The heavy bolt slid free, and she pushed the doors open.

 

The entrance opened up into a great cliff, like a stone spearhead jutting from the side of the mountain. The snow and dark stone was littered with what appeared to be the ruins of an archway. The sides of the cliff had apparently fallen away over the centuries, sheer drops with no safe way down.

She wandered up the small snowy path, passing under the dilapidated stone gateway. The wind whipped around her, thin and biting cold. She hugged herself, her fingers and toes painfully cold. Her body was little more than a skin-bound skeleton, nothing but leather armor to prevent frostbite.

 

As she approached the cliff’s point, something spotted her. The whipping wind masked the sound of wings and turned her eyes downward; she had no idea what was happening until it was upon her.

Jet-black wings blotted out the sky, obsidian talons wrapped around her, and a raven’s shriek echoed through the canyon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What could that possibly be? Where will it take her? All she has is Oscar's prophecy, but how would she even begin? 
> 
>  
> 
> Yep, I'm back, not dead, no siree. Hard to make an easy fight sound dramatic. At least she's not a sorcerer, that would've cut the word count in half.
> 
>  
> 
> oh yeah, [here](https://docs.google.com/document/d/1NR8vQBXAC25miNrnAj-egqnnX8o7ENpUuUpguCyk3FY/)'s the doc I write in, if anyone wants


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